


Little Shop of Golems

by ArchangelEquinox



Series: Once a Rogue... [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Denerim, F/M, Golems, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelEquinox/pseuds/ArchangelEquinox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While searching for Brother Genitivi's house in Denerim, Alana receives a letter that prompts her to reexamine the choices she's made in her relationship with Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Shop of Golems

            A beggar approached her as they wandered the streets of Denerim.  This was not uncommon; Denerim was filled with those less fortunate, lives worn down by alienages or left over from the war with Orlais. 

            Alana almost brushed by this old man just as readily as all the others.  Though she wished she had something to offer, their little band was run down itself -- she desperately needed some new armor, and Sten's sword was starting to wear, which would be a costly repair.  Wynne was managing in her Circle robes, but she needed sturdier shoes for all the walking they were doing.  They needed all the coin they had, and then some, to keep themselves functional. 

            But the old man didn't ask for anything.  Instead, he stepped very close to Alana, so close that Alistair stopped his running dialogue about a golem doll he'd had as a child and pushed himself in front of her, something he never did unless he perceived an obvious and imminent threat. 

            The beggar ignored him.  He leaned around Alistair and studied Alana's face.  She stared back, wondering what he was looking for.  When Alistair tilted his head to be in the beggar's line of sight, a move that would have been comical on an average day, the old man suddenly stepped back.  With a flourish, he produced a piece of parchment from under his soiled clothes and handed it to her. 

            "For you, my Lady," he said, his accent thick.  Alana reached for the letter, and the second her fingers closed on it, the old man bowed and walked away.  She stayed frozen in place, watching him retreat until Leliana came up behind her. 

            "What was that?" the sister asked, and Alana shook herself. 

            "I'm not sure," she replied.  She glanced at Alistair, who was alternating between glaring at the beggar and watching her closely.  "I'm fine," she reassured him, and he nodded much too quickly to be convinced. 

            Morrigan stepped in.  "Perhaps we should not be so conspicuous with whatever this is," the witch said, gesturing to the market square around them.  "We would not want to draw attention."  

            "Right, of course," Alana said.  She stuffed the parchment quickly into her breastplate and started walking again.  Before long, the group had forgotten about the strange encounter and resumed their search for Brother Genitivi's house. 

            It didn't take long.  A few quiet conversations with bartenders and shop owners and they found his house on a lonesome back street.  His assistant insisted that he was gone, but their quick search revealed a corpse in the back of the house.  It didn't take much to figure out that the assistant was one of the same cultists who had attached them outside the Spoiled Princess, and the ensuing fight took only minutes before he lay dead before them. 

            "I should be surprised," Alana grumbled afterward as they dug through Genitivi's notes, trying to find a clue as to where he'd gone.  "But I'm not.  What would an adventure be without some dead bodies and bloodshed by now?" 

            "A proper vacation?" Alistair suggested as he rifled through a stack of papers. 

            "Boring," intoned Sten from his guard post at the door. 

            "Is this how all your journeys are?"  Wynne asked.  She was stepping carefully over the corpse in the corner, trying to reach something just beyond its torso. 

            "You're asking this now?"  Alistair sounded genuinely surprised, like the mage should have figured that out long ago. 

            "Well, being in the Circle for many years…" she began, but the sister cut her off. 

            "This is all part of the Maker's plan," Leliana said, her voice muffled from the other room.   Alana couldn't help her eye roll, and she heard Alistair snort.  Wynne just sighed, grabbing the books from the shelf, and said nothing else. 

            After almost an hour, Alana finally found something that looked promising -- Genitivi's research notes on Andraste's final resting place, hidden inside a dusty urn.  

            "He was headed to a town called Haven," she announced after skimming through them.  "Apparently, there's evidence that her remains may be there." 

            Leliana poked her head into the room.  "So when do we leave?"  she asked brightly.  The rest of the group, excluding Sten, groaned.  Alana surveyed them for a moment.  Their grim faces and mud-spattered clothes screamed for rest after their trek across half of Ferelden. 

            "We'll need to find Haven on the map first before we can leave.  Perhaps we should spend a night or two here and recover before we head back onto the road," she suggested. 

            "Yes please," Wynne piped up before anyone else could speak. 

            "You may stay with me, my bosomy friend," Zevran offered, and the mage gave him a dirty look. 

            "I need _sleep_ , darling," she said, her voice oozing sarcasm. 

            "Ah, then never mind." The rogue winked at her.  Alistair and Morrigan both gagged. 

            Alana couldn't help her laugh.  "Let's find a place to stay," she said and herded them out of the Brother's house.  They wandered through the streets of Denerim once again, skirting the guards until they found a cheap inn near the alienage.  Thanks to it being closed, it was unlikely anyone would be looking for them there -- they might actually have a night or two of peace. 

            After they had settled on their room arrangements, it didn't take long for the group to split up for the evening.  Morrigan wanted to visit the gardens just outside the palace, apostate or no, and Wynne and Leliana were going to the nearby Chantry to pray.  Sten needed to get his weapons looked at, Zevran was off to the nearest brothel, and Alistair… suddenly, Alana and Alistair found themselves alone in the hallway outside the group's rooms, staring at each other with nothing to say. 

            They hadn't been alone like this since the night Alana had drunkenly kissed him, and both knew they had been avoiding it. 

            "I'm going to --" They both began, and froze, their eyes locked. 

            Alistair dropped his gaze first.  "Sleep, I think," he mumbled finally, shuffling his feet.  "Tired, and all that." 

            Alana nodded, perhaps too quickly, and spoke.  "Shopping for me," she tittered nervously.  "Better armor, maybe." 

            Alistair shrugged.  "Good idea.  Smart. Safer."  He trailed off, his words aimed at the floor. 

            "Have a good night?"  Alistair made a non-committal noise in response before heading into his room, and Alana stared after him for a moment.  The days since they'd last really talked had been more than a little awkward – sure, they’d agreed to be friends, but Alistair had avoided her entirely, refusing to walk near her on the road or sleep beside her in camp.  Instead, he'd set up a tent (which no one else did) and withdrew to it immediately, and often he didn't emerge until most everyone was up and functional in the mornings.  The days of his cheery greetings and watery tea were gone, and Alana couldn't help but feel it was her fault. 

            There was really no doubt it was her fault. 

            Sighing, she stepped into her own room.  She was sharing with Morrigan, which didn’t much bother her, but nonetheless she was still careful where she placed her things. Through the thin walls, she could hear Alistair doing the same.  If the banging of his armor was any indication, he was upset, and Alana flopped down on the bed. 

            That was probably her fault too. 

            After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, Alana tried to shake herself back to reality.  She was the one who had set the parameters of their relationship after all – she had to accept it. 

A washbasin sat in the corner of the sparse room, so she took the opportunity to freshen up before she headed out.  Surely a merchant would appreciate that he could not smell her, and that would mean more armor for less gold.  She hoped. 

            The marketplace was surprisingly busy as twilight settled over the city.  The shouts of vendors and the general cacophony of people enjoying themselves washed over her, reminding her of all that she’d missed about living in a city.  It wasn’t much, admittedly, but there was something safe about being able to vanish into the throng. 

            She wandered aimlessly for a while, enjoying the feeling of anonymity and freedom she’d so longed for the past few months.  Right now, no one was expecting anything of her – she could relax and no one would question her or ask her for help.  She didn’t have to lead or solve problems or break up arguments.  There was nothing essential for her to do, no responsibilities to fulfill, and for just a few minutes, it was glorious. 

            Then a beggar passed by, hands extended, and the events of the day came rushing back.  Alana remembered the old man who’d handed her a letter, and the parchment tucked between her armor and tunic suddenly itched and scratched.  She glanced around, seeking a quiet place to dig it out and read it. 

            Her quest didn’t take long.  One of her favorite things about Denerim was its capacity for out of the way places, and one long alleyway later, she found a gap between two buildings that offered some privacy.  She sat on a nearby barrel and fished around inside her armor, finally pulling out the crumpled parchment and smoothing it to read. 

            When she finally turned it over, the Cousland seal stared up at her, its waving branches imprinted deep in the navy blue wax.  Dizziness washed over her as blood rushed from her head.  Who could be writing her from Highever?  There were no Couslands left -- none had survived between Ostagar and Howe’s attack on her family.  But someone had to have the seal – it only survived on the heirloom rings passed down through the family.  Her father’s currently rested on a chain around her neck, and her brother’s must be still on his finger, wherever his body had fallen after the darkspawn massacre.

            Who else could be writing to her? 

            With trembling fingers she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.  Her eyes scanned over its lines, finally settling on the flourish of the signature at the bottom.  Her blood went cold, her heart beating far too fast, and then she felt a flood of tears spill down her cheeks, a huge trembling sob pulled from her chest. 

            It was from Fergus. 

            Her brother was alive. 

            She had no idea how long she sobbed in that little alley, but the sky above her darkened toward night by the time she had cried herself out.  She wasn’t even sure why she was crying – the weight of Highever had lifted off her shoulders, and her brother, once dead, was now alive again and had taken his rightful place as Teryn.  All the things she had dreaded doing, all the responsibilities she didn’t want to have, had vanished in the space of a letter, and she was free. 

            And yet she sat sobbing like a child in the streets of Denerim. 

            When she finally had control of herself, Alana read through the letter again. 

_Alana, my dear sister_ , it began. 

_My thoughts were dark after hearing of the Wardens’ betrayal and defeat at Ostagar, but I have since learned of Howe and Loghain’s treachery, and thus I wished to write to you.  I was glad to hear you are alive and well.   My escape from Ostagar, though accomplished, necessitated some degree of stealth to avoid Howe’s men, and thus I apologize for the delay in contacting you._

_I am safely away from Highever, in hiding, and I have begun investigations into Howe’s coup against our family.  Never fear – I shall avenge our parents’ lives, and deaths._

_There is little I can do to aid you now, especially with my concern that you are one of the Wardens sought by Loghain, but know I am thankful for your survival and here in support should you have need._

_Your brother, Fergus_

Alana read the letter several more times, each looking for deeper clues as to Fergus’ whereabouts or the safety of his family.  He hadn’t confirmed Oriana's or his son Oren's survival, but Alana remained hopeful that they had been spirited away somehow.  For now, he was alive, and he was trying to bring down Howe. 

It was enough. 

She leaned her head against the wall behind her and rolled the parchment in her hands.  If Fergus was alive, then she wouldn’t have to go back after the war.  And if she didn’t have to go back… Alana pondered the implications.  What did that really mean?  There was still a Blight on, but her duties as a Warden superseded any remaining noble duties.  And even if they didn’t, no noble son would want to marry a woman who couldn’t conceive, which Alistair had told her (with no small amount of blushing) was near-impossible for Wardens.  After the Blight, then, she didn’t have to return to Highever; instead, she’d go to the Grey Warden headquarters with Alistair to see about rebuilding the Order, and from there…

She didn’t know what happened from there.  Her future was suddenly open and free, and that had never been true in her entire life. 

_Alistair_.  His sweet smile came unbidden to her mind, and Alana couldn’t help the warmth that went through her chest.  What did this mean for her relationship with Alistair?  She knew the Wardens didn’t take any issue with relationships in their ranks, but was there anything between them left to salvage?  Did she even _have_ a relationship with Alistair anymore? 

Their last true conversation, back on the dusty road out of Redcliffe, sprang to mind, and her heart dropped. 

There was no way he still wanted her after all that had happened between them. 

Alana heaved a sigh and forced herself up.  There was no point in dwelling on things – she had pushed him away, and that was it.  He had every right to stay away after what she’d said and done.  All she could do now was be kind and hope that someday, he might give her a second chance. 

After a quick stretch, she headed back down the alley toward the marketplace.  The venders must be closing soon, and she had work to do.    

\---

            By the time Alana was finished, most of the shops around the market were closed.  Her evening had been a success, however: she had managed to haggle a vendor into selling her new leather armor for the price of a used set, and she’d found a dwarf willing to fletch new arrows for her by tomorrow afternoon.  The delay meant another day and night in Denerim, but her companions would be grateful for the rest. 

She dawdled through the streets of Denerim when she was finished.  Throughout the evening’s chores, Alistair had never been far from her thoughts.  She’d done everything she could to sabotage their relationship, believing it necessary at the time, but after Fergus’s letter… now she wanted things to go back to how they had been weeks ago, before Redcliffe, even before that shouting match he had gotten in with Morrigan.  Back then, they’d been flirtatious friends, perhaps headed toward more, and if she could have that back….

            She wanted it back more than anything, and as she walked past a novelty shop that sold the golem dolls, an idea sprang to life. 

            A gift. 

            There was little coin left for frivolities, but Alana had a few little things, hairpins and small statuettes, they’d found on the road she could sell.   Golem dolls were toys for children; surely one couldn’t be that expensive?  And she knew what a miserable childhood Alistair had had – the toy had likely meant a lot to him.  If she could get him one, maybe she could show him what he meant to her without being too obvious.  Maybe she could convince him she was worth his time again, and maybe it could help her start to fix things between them. 

            It seemed silly to pin her hopes on a doll of all things, but she didn’t know what else to do.  Other than confronting him and forcing him to talk to her, which seemed more likely to make him spontaneously combust from the blush that was sure to result, this was her best option. 

            _The Wonders of Thedas_ , the sign read, and Alana huffed a sigh of relief that the shop was still open.  A tiny jingle of a bell rang as she stepped inside, and a wave of mixed, heady scents washed over her, all herbs and flowers and exotic spices.   Alana breathed deep, enjoying the rich mix that so easily replaced the smell of too many bodies and too little sanitation outside.  The proprietor, a Tranquil mage, looked up from the counter.  He studied her for a moment before speaking. 

            "The shop is closing in ten minutes," he intoned, his voice carrying that odd lack of inflection common to all Tranquil.  "Please make your purchases accordingly." 

            "I will," Alana assured him, her eyes darting around the shop's many shelves in search of her quarry.  The interior was surprisingly bright, candles flickering on just about every shelf in the story.  As she explored, she spotted a pair of glass slippers and something carved out of jade that was remarkably… life-like, she guessed.  It was hard to know for sure, given her little experience with men, but it certainly looked how 'below deck' had always been described. 

            She laughed her way deeper into the shop, easing past enormous bookshelves filled with tomes and exotic jewelry before finally finding her way into a corner filled with statues and toys.  There, perched on top of a pile of stuffed mabari puppies, was a miniature golem doll.  She picked it up carefully, turning it over in her hands to inspect it.  Its tiny stone face glared up at her, and its arms were attached via screws so they could move just a little.  It even came complete with tiny crystals dug into its shoulders. 

            It was perfect. 

            She hurried toward the shop owner, digging through her bag for the few items she had for trade and hoping he would be willing to work something out.  All in all, it was easier than she expected; the Tranquil didn't want the statuettes, but he was willing to trade for a set of gold hairpins and some opal earrings Alana had looted off a bandit, and soon she was heading out of the shop, the little golem doll resting happily in her bag. 

            She tried not to think too hard about her gift as she walked back toward their inn.  Alistair hadn’t spoken to her outside basic inquiries for days, but Fergus’s letter had filled her with a fluttering kind of hope that perhaps she could have the life she wanted.  A life where she didn’t have to put her own hopes and desires to the side.  And Zevran’s words from Redcliffe kept coming back to her: “Never forget that you deserve happiness.”  She hadn't wanted to believe that, but maybe it was true.  Maybe this was her chance. 

            The streets were empty and the sky dark by the time she’d reached the alley that lead to their out of the way inn.  Alana should have been paying better attention, but she was deep in thought, wondering how she could coax Alistair into talking to her, and she didn’t notice the men surrounding her until the one behind her spoke. 

            “Hey little girl,” he hissed, grabbing her arm.  Alana spun, trying to yank her arm away, but with no success – he’d surprised her, and his grip was strong. 

            “Let go!” She snapped, fumbling along her belt for a knife with her other hand. 

            The two others stepped closer.  “Nice night for a stroll," one taunted while the other stepped offensively close.  A ripe smelled poured off him, and Alana tried not to gag. 

            “We enjoy girls like you,” he growled, running a hand along her hair. 

            “Get away!” Alana shouted, finally getting her knife.  She swung it wildly, and the first man leapt back.  Freed, Alana dropped into a crouch and slashed at the smelly one’s side, catching her blade in his clothes. 

            “Feisty,” the second laughed, brandishing his own weapon.  His companion lunged at Alana, catching her unaware as she tried to free her knife from the smelly one and right herself again.  With a cry, he smashed the butt of his blade down on her shoulder, and she crumpled.  The first pounced then, trying to rip the pack from her back.  She fought back, trying to kick or stab him even as she struggled to roll away, but soon the other two were on top of her, one pinning her down and the other pressing a blade to her throat. 

            “Don’t move, pretty,” one growled, the other digging his boot into her injured shoulder.  She froze, hesitant to press the knife further into her skin, and tried to figure out how to get free.  She could feel one of the robber’s hands digging through her pack, and for a split second, she was glad she’d stowed Fergus’s letter in her shirt. 

            Then she heard footsteps, the dull sound of boots against stone, and the weight on her back was gone, toppled with a mixture of a shout and a scream.  A sword sliced through the air, a sharp hiss and then a thud as it cleaved into the man pinning her down, and the knife at her throat vanished.  Alana heaved herself up, careful to avoid dropping her weight on her shoulder, and managed to stand in time to see Alistair bash the last bandit in the face with his shield.  The man staggered backward, spinning his arms to regain his bearings, but he was too slow – Alistair leapt forward, hitting him again.  He fell, and did not get up. 

            Alistair moved quickly to check the others, his sword still at the ready.  When he was satisfied they were down, he sheathed the weapon and turned to Alana.  She stood hunched over, her arms balanced on her knees as she tried not to throw up. 

            “Are you okay?”  He touched her wounded shoulder gently, and she lifted her eyes to his face.  The gentle concern on his face, the soft light in his eyes that had been so missing in the past weeks, was back, and he eased her up, supporting her weight against him. 

            “I’m all right,” she gasped finally, her free hand coming up to wipe away a trickle of blood from her throat.  She allowed herself to lean on Alistair, feeling his warmth against her side, and closed her eyes.  He didn’t move away, instead wrapping one arm around her shoulders and turning her gently so she could rest her forehead against his chest. 

            “I’m glad,” he murmured.  His breath ghosted over the side of her face as he leaned close, and Alana could have sworn he brushed his lips against her hair.  On impulse, she wrapped her uninjured arm around his waist and pulled him closer, and he responded, hugging her tight. 

            “We need to go inside,” he said softly, and he let her go, stepping back enough for propriety but keeping his arm around her shoulders for support.  They stumbled back in, Alana shaking more than she’d realized, and Alistair led them upstairs to her room.  He helped her sit down, stoking the fire up to roaring heights, and took her pack from her. 

            “You sure you’re okay?”  He studied her from across the room, holding her bag before him like a shield, and Alana had to smile. 

            “I am, thanks to you,” she told him, smiling.  “Thank you.”  He blushed, nodding, and looked around the room. 

            “I should, um, let you get to bed, or something,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.  He ran a hand through his hair and headed for the door. 

            “Alistair, wait,” Alana called, getting up, and he paused.  “That letter, from earlier today…” she trailed off, not sure how to explain as the awkwardness between them strengthened. 

            In a show of bravery, Alistair came back and sat beside her, his hands twisting in his lap.  “Alana, I don’t know…” 

            “It was from my brother,” she forced out before he could get any further.  “He’s alive.”  Alistair’s eyebrows rose almost comically toward his spiked hair, and his mouth made a perfect “O” of surprise.  Without warning, he leaned over and embraced her, his strong arms wrapping tight around her and pulling her against his chest.  Alana gave a squeak of surprise before sinking against him, but he pulled away just as abruptly.  

            “Was this not a, uh, hugging moment?”  He asked, his voice shaking.  “I sort of thought this was a hugging moment.”  She could feel his sudden reticence as his arms loosened from her back. 

            “No, it is,” she said quickly, her arm sliding around him, and he let out a huff of air.

            "Oh good.  Didn't screw that one up."  He tightened his grip, and Alana groaned -- his arm was digging into her bruised shoulder, and Alistair leapt away like she'd set him on fire.  

            “Oh Maker,” he muttered.  “I’m sorry, I’ve hurt you, and –”

            “It’s okay, Alistair,” she said, catching his elbow.  “I’m fine.” 

            Blushing, he pulled his arm from her grip and stood.  “Let me get you a potion.  There’s got to be one in your pack, right? I’ll find it.”  He fumbled with the ties on her bag, ignoring her sounds of protest as he got it open and started rifling through its contents. 

            Then he froze.  “Is this…”  He stepped back to the fire, and Alana saw the golem doll clenched tight in his hand.  A smile burst across her face, her protests forgotten, and she pushed herself up. 

            “Yes,” she said, coming to stand before him. 

            Alistair’s gaze dropped and he studied the doll for a long moment.  One broad finger traced along the doll’s stony little face, the crystals dug into its back, and when he finally looked up, Alana could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes. 

            “Did you… Did you buy this, for me?”  His voice cracked on the last words, and if it were possible, his blush deepened even further. 

            Alana stepped closer, hardly a foot away from Alistair, and stared up at him.  “I did,” she said softly.  “I thought that maybe you would, you know, like it,” she continued, struggling to keep her eyes locked on his.  Those amber eyes were impossible to read, so much moving behind them as they stayed wide and unblinking.  “And I wanted to say that I’m sorry, for everything.  I thought… the letter…”  Her nerve suddenly abandoned her, leaving her cold despite Alistair’s proximity, and she glanced down, away, afraid. 

            Alistair tilted his head until he managed to make to eye contact again, and Alana couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of her at the sight.  He smiled then, his eyes warm.  “You said your brother is alive,” he reminded her. 

            She nodded.  “I don’t have to go back to Highever anymore, when this is over,” she said, and suddenly she was babbling.  “I thought I had this whole other life to go back to, so I couldn’t get close to anyone, but since Fergus is alive, he’ll be the Teryn, and I can stay with the Grey Wardens, with...”  The ‘you’ caught in her throat, choking her, but it didn’t matter because Alistair was hugging her again, his arms wrapped around her and the golem doll still clutched tight in one hand. 

            She made a tiny noise somewhere between a squeak and a sigh before melting against him, her arms coming up to clutch at him and her face buried in his chest.  It was more contact in the last twenty minutes than they’d had in the previous month, but the tension and uncertainty faded as he held her, and before long it felt like the past few weeks hadn’t even happened. 

            His name left her lips like a prayer, and she felt him loosen his grip. 

            "No, no," she said quickly, tightening her own grip and pulling him back to her.  “It’s just…”  But she didn’t finish her thought; she didn’t know what it was _just_.  Just a hug between friends? Fellow Grey Wardens? Something more? Right then, caught in his arms and with his body radiating heat through his tunic, she wasn't sure she cared.  

            He was willing to touch her, hug her, again, and that was all that mattered.  

            When the ache in her shoulder was enough to force her from his arms, Alana stepped back.  Alistair’s hands trailed down her arms as she moved, the golem doll rubbing against her armor.  “Careful,” she cried, ducking away from it.  “Don’t get it dirty!” 

            Alistair smiled.  “Never,” he said quietly, but his eyes didn’t move from her face.  She stared up at him, not caring that she could feel her cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze. 

            “Alistair,” she murmured, her hand moving to rest on his chest.  “I’m so sorry for how I acted.  I never wanted to hurt you, I wanted…” 

            “What?”  He set the doll down without looking.  It bounced off the end table to the floor, but neither noticed.  His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.  “What do you want?” 

            Alana inched closer, and one of Alistair’s hands came to rest on her waist. 

            “I want things to go back to how they were before,” she whispered.  “Before I got drunk and kissed you, before I was so mean to you.”  She felt Alistair’s hand fall, and he took a step back. 

            “You said you were mean, before,” he said.  She searched his eyes, but that warmth was tempered with something harder, more guarded, now.  Her heart sank – the doll was a good effort, but not enough to repair the damage. 

She took a step back, her hand slipping from his chest.  “I know I did, and I’m so sorry,” she said.  “I don’t… I’m not sure how to make this better.  I thought…” She trailed off, shaking her head, and Alistair bent to grab the doll from the floor. 

            “This is your apology, then?”  He wiggled it at her, a smirk spreading across his handsome features.  “It’s not going to blow up in my face, is it?” 

            Alana couldn’t help her laugh.  “No, I promise.  I thought maybe we could… I don’t know.”  She shrugged, no more words coming to her, and stared at her boots. 

            “We can be friends,” Alistair finished for her, and she smiled. 

            “Yes,” she agreed.  “I thought we could be friends.” 

            “I’d like that.”  He leaned in abruptly and pressed his lips to her cheek.  When he pulled away, his face was flaming, but he was smiling.  “I’ll go find that potion for you now.  You should rest.”  He left the room, likely in search of a potion in his own pack.  Alana, not sure what to do, stared after him.

            When he came back a few minutes later, she’d changed into some fresher clothes, a light tunic for sleeping and her leggings.  Her shoulder was purple and black with bruising, but nothing seemed broken, and the nick on her throat was only superficial – she’d gotten away easy from those robbers, though without Alistair’s interference, there was no telling what would have happened. 

            “Thank you again for saving me,” she said when he handed her the potion. 

            “Always,” he replied, fidgeting as she drank.  They talked quietly about the chores Alana had run and what they needed to plan for tomorrow, and for a few minutes, it was like they were back to normal. 

            Eventually Alana’s eyes started to drift closed.  Alistair got up to leave, but before he could get out the door, she spoke. 

            “How did you know I was in trouble?”  She asked, her voice thick with sleep.  “You said you were going to bed early.” 

            “I, uh, was,” he said, turning back and ruffling his hair.  “But I waited up.  For you to come back, I mean.”  He blushed, but Alana only smiled. 

            “Thank you,” she said again.  She thought about asking him to keep her company, just until she fell asleep, but that didn’t seem like a good idea.  Not so soon anyway, even if it was just her sleeping in the bed and he sitting on the couch.  “Good night,” she added, realizing he was still waiting in the room. 

            “G’night,” he replied, flashing her a smile before carefully pulling the door closed behind him. 

            Alana lay awake for longer than she expected.  She didn’t want to get her hopes up nor push Alistair too quickly, but she couldn’t help thinking about how she could still feel the warmth of his hands on her back or how he'd coming running to her rescue.  Her hand came up to brush her face, fingers finding the tingling spot where she could still feel his lips pressed to her cheek.  

            She couldn't help her smile as she finally drifted off to sleep.    

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


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